


The Enchanted Chain

by wavewright62



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: 5 Things, Big Damn Heroes, Bingo, Fusion Magic, Gen, Light Angst, Post-Canon, Runes, magic artifact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29896920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavewright62/pseuds/wavewright62
Summary: 'Farm magic' is very useful to the Norwegian military, especially when using very special elements to modify the original spells.
Relationships: Reynir Árnason & Sigrun Eide
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13
Collections: Synchronised Screaming





	The Enchanted Chain

**Author's Note:**

> I claim Bingo! in the March edition of the Synchronised Screaming bingo prompts cards. From the Tropes card: 5 Things, Big Damn Heroes, Restraint/Binding, Rituals/Runes/Spells, and Genfic.

Reynir held up the chain he was enchanting, twisting it left and right as he scrutinised it in the afternoon sun glinting through the doorway of the tent. With a frown he dipped his brush again and adjusted one of the staves minutely. Once satisfied, he murmured the requisite phrase to complete the spell on the newly-completed runework, and carefully hung the length on a rack to dry completely. He rotated his shoulders and neck to release the tension. So many items were still waiting to be enchanted, did he have enough time to paint another before dinner?

He could just see the scuffed boots outside the tent flap, shifting and shuffling as their owner failed in their attempt to wait patiently. The Norwegian military maintained a gung-ho culture, and he knew none of the soldiers really liked being left behind in camp, guarding the mage. Or ‘babysitting’, Reynir sighed. Some of the soldiers liked to flirt with Reynir, which was always fun. Today’s soldier was not one of those. Not inclined, way too young, and perhaps most damningly, related to his commanding officer.

Sigrun Eide was as good as her word. She had persuaded her generals to take Reynir on when she took him back to Norway with her, even though he was non-immune. Once he learnt enough Norwegian, Reynir came to realise that those generals were her _parents_ , but her standing within the military stood on her own merit. Some years had passed since then and Sigrun, now a general herself, was still a formidable force of nature. Reynir had cemented his place in the military on his own merits as well, becoming highly valued for his effective style of modified ‘farm magic’.

Reynir started putting away his tools as he could hear troops arriving back in camp. That was the signal Reynir’s guard was looking for as well. The face that popped into the tent flap was much cheered, “I’m off, Seiðkarl, unless you needed something else?”

“Actually, yes I do. Come in.” Reynir stood up, flexing his shoulders. The center post of Reynir’s tent was pitched extra high to accommodate Reynir’s height, but the soldier was about the same height, maybe taller, with shoulders half again the breadth of his own. “You’re going out on patrol tomorrow, right? You can try something out for me.” He took some of the freshly enchanted chain lengths off the rack. The young soldier’s eyes lit up as Reynir connected the tools to one another and explained their use.

\---

“I gotta tell you, trollbait, that chain was some piece of work,” Sigrun exclaimed as she plopped herself on Reynir’s work chair. “Magda was amazing, and I’m not just saying that because she’s my daughter. She just stood up to that thing and swung that chain of yours, bellowing in Finnish or Icelandic or whatever. She only got it draped across the back of the damn thing’s neck on the first try, but it calmed down right away and followed us like a lamb to the slaughter.” She guffawed at Reynir’s expression, “Which it was!” She held out the chain, which was now in three irregular lengths.

“Did it break?,” Reynir cried out as he examined the links. “It shouldn’t have?”

“Ah, yeah. Well, Karlsson got a bit carried away and cut through the head without taking off the chain first.” At Reynir’s puzzled expression, she went on, “He was using that sword you put the extra-sharp spell onto.”

“Oh. Right. Okay, that would have done it.” He laid the chain lengths onto his workbench. “I’m glad Magda could follow the instructions, though. Are you sure she doesn’t have any magic in her?” His eyes sparkled as he teased Magda’s mother.

“Not from the Eide side, she doesn’t. The other side, eh, who knows. Who knows?” Sigrun took a long drink out of her flagon. “Y’know, I’ve been meaning to ask you – this batch of runes is working especially well this year. What’s different? Er, can I ask you that, is it okay to ask you that?”

“Haha, fair question,” Reynir laughed, “Yes, it’s a new formula. Or, rather, an old formula. Some at the Academy have been urging us to try imbuing our inks and paints with a bit of …ourselves.”

Sigrun nodded. “Ooo, _imbuing._ Well sure, the gods like blood and stuff like that. Everybody knows that, old news.”

“Not _my_ blood! Troll blood.” Sigrun opened her mouth in shock, but Reynir held up his hand. “UV-denatured troll blood, totally safe. Anyway, the idea was to combine ingredients that mean something personally to me as a mage. For me, I went back to that time we were still running around Denmark and Finland, before all that – well, you know. But then – get this, you’ll like this – you have to _chant_ a special verse as you paint it, too.”

“What? Is that why Mags had to holler that? Like the old twig and those other Finnish mages do? You’re kidding me. Really?”

“Who do you think came up with it?,” Reynir slapped his thigh as he laughed. “I knew you would get a kick out of that. I didn't tell Magda to yell it, though, she was supposed to _sing._ Looks like it worked anyway. So,” he picked up a pinecone off his bench, “five things - some troll blood, a bit of pine resin… I get this sent to me from Finland, do you remember when Onni used this as a warding?”

Sigrun raised her eyebrows. “Norway has pine trees, heaps of ‘em.”

“But that’s the point, this is special, to me.” Reynir put the pinecone down gently. “As are the brushes I use to paint the runes. This one?,” he held up a slender brush with long hairs, “is lynx hair.” Sigrun looked at him blankly. “Also from Finland. Lalli wouldn’t answer when I asked for this, but Emil sends me some, bless him. For the bigger strokes, I use… this.” He pulled a cloth bundle toward him and unwrapped it carefully.

Sigrun frowned as she peered at the unwrapped item. “A feather? Okay, makes sense. Is that from, like, a seagull? Remember that old guy with the creepy cabinet and all his seagulls?”

Reynir smiled as he picked up the feather reverently. “Yeah, him. That was weird. No, _this_ feather, this was a gift.”

He knew that Sigrun couldn’t see what he saw in the feather, undimmed after the decades, as clean and shining as the day it was entrusted to him, before its bearer left for cold Tuonela. To her, with no magic in her, it would appear to be just a feather. He bowed his head in memory and appreciation of that gift, as he did every time he used it.

“Hmmm, that makes four things. What’s the fifth?” Sigrun took another long draught from her flagon.

She spit it out again when Reynir snorted, “Wax.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I have left some things ambiguous. Whose daughter? Whose feather? In the immortal words of Linda Richman, "now I'm a little verklempt. Talk amongst yourselves."


End file.
